


A collection of 'the'

by Blank_Ideas



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Poetry, Warnings May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:53:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23690383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blank_Ideas/pseuds/Blank_Ideas
Summary: This is a collection of various poems I'm writing about the magnus archives and its characters
Kudos: 3





	1. Immortal King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elias is a bitch baby

Immortal King

Beneath the ashes.  
Above the spire,  
Above the plains where flames grow ever higher.  
He sits.  
He perches.  
A watchful eye,  
The painted diamond within the sky.  
There he is still,  
Amidst it all- the screaming, the shouting, the innocent fall.  
And still yet up there,  
From what I can see,  
The immortal king is an absentee.

He has built up his pyre.  
With bones and blood,  
With faces he knew scraped in thick mud.  
No gas.  
No matches.  
Before the throne,  
Where now he can deny all he's sewn.  
Tear stricken cheeks,  
Split by wide eyes- the pupils, the lashes, all grown wise.  
For from there he can look,  
At every man's penance,  
The immortal king with his deliverance.

Once he waited.  
Now he splits,  
Now amongst hell he sees its pits.  
A gap.  
A fissure.  
Cracked beneath his binds,  
Bloodied now born the loss of innocence in all minds.  
It is his fault,  
Imperfection a simple salt- over blisters and scars, constant assault.  
He is seen.  
He is known.  
The immortal king to be overthrown.


	2. Archivist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I become Martin.

Archivist.

There is a subtle twist to the Archivist's lips,  
A curling thunder that cracks;  
Causes creaks and howls in forgotten doors,  
Pulls curtains closed,  
And caresses the kindling that is the once deceased.  
This twist is the swirl of milk stop tea  
This twist is the spark of a webbed lighter  
This twist is the sacrifice of gentle longing.  
There is a subtle twist to the archivist's lips-   
Dreaded risk.

There is a depth within scars on the Archivist's skin,  
A vast ocean with coils that wreak;  
Causes mottled wood to chip and break,  
Charters ships from safe paths,  
And pulls apart the flesh of apples with infestation.  
This depth is unknowable  
This depth is unhidden  
This depth is uncontrollable.  
There is a depth within scars on the Archivist's skin-  
Interminable suffrage. 

There is green within the eyes of the Archivist,  
A deep forest filled to the brim with lush life;  
The curious staring from tree tops and bushes,  
The weak prowling for a meal,  
And the overwhelming feeling being lost.  
This green is sparkling  
This green is intoxicating  
This green is heart-palpitating.  
There is green within the eyes of the Archivist-  
The sort that pulls the blood from stone.


End file.
